Webcam
by slashyking
Summary: Sherlock slash fic. Fun with webcams. Inspired by ASiB. Details in Author's Note. Rated for smut. Don't like, don't read.


A/N: Inspired by ASiB. Sherlock and Johnhave some fun with their webcams. Bit of smut for you lovely folks. R&r. Enjoy.

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><p><strong>Webcam<strong>

"Sherlock, why are we doing this again?" John settled in his booth at the café a few blocks from Baker Street, eyes fretfully wandering over the screen of his laptop, surveying the patrons around him.

"You said you wanted to take risks, why not start with something simple?" Sherlock wasn't on the screen, but John knew he was near the laptop at the other end of the conversation, sitting on the coffee table back at 221B.

John leaned into the mic and whispered, "And you thought that having you…'give me a show,' in a public place is the simplest step? Why not just have a shag on the Tube or, maybe, in the middle of a park? That would be just as humiliating and wrong."

Sherlock's dark curls came into view at the side of the screen, but only for a moment before hiding back away from the camera. Some rustling noises came from John's speakers before finally the screen went black.

"Sherlock? Are you the—"

"Yes, I'm here, I covered the camera."

"Why? I thought you wanted to do this?"

"I do, I want to get you riled up first, get your co—" John quickly clicked the mute button and grabbed the headphones from his pocket. He sent up a little thank you that he convinced himself to bring them. He plugged them in and caught the end of Sherlock's statement.

"—All hot and bothered, it'll take your breath away."

"I'd like to see you try." John growled, resting his head in his hands and his elbows on the table, starting to get excited.

There was a pause, and a moment later, Sherlock's voice was in John's ears again, low and husky.

"What do you want to see John?" It sent a chill through him, imagining what was on the other end of the camera.

"What do you have to show me?" John wasn't much for dirty talk, not even in the bedroom, but figured that was good enough to keep the flow.

"Everything." John could hear Sherlock's breath getting shallow, it was rich.

"Don't you just love that?" He asked, condescension evident in his tone, but it was still unctuous and decadent.

"What?" One of John's hands had wandered away from his chin, and was now resting in this lap, and waiting for an opportune time. He was getting all wrapped up in his imagination, wondering just when Sherlock would uncover the lens.

"I'm getting you all bothered in a cyber café. In front of all those people. Makes you feel all…dirty, doesn't it?" John could practically feel Sherlock there, whispering in his ear, his hand taking the place of John's, slow and deliberate between his legs.

"Yeah." John figured Sherlock would be all talk and no show, so he closed his eyes and listened to Sherlock's breath and his own swirling together.

"Open them, John." John's eyes shot open to see Sherlock, in that damned bed sheet. John's hand halted to a stop.

"What the hell is that?"

"Believe me, John, you'll like it. Just wait." Before John could protest, he watched Sherlock slowly pull at the white sheet, exposing his neck and chest. John just watched in silence, his hand steadily picking up where it left off.

Sherlock never looked away from the camera for a moment, wanting to see every gesture John made, making sure he was pleasing him.

He pulled the bed sheet open a bit more, rolling it off his shoulders and down his back, starting to pool around his hips.

John's curiosity was peaking again. He wondered what could possibly be under that sheet; nothing at all, his black shorts—the kind John really loved—or maybe women's underwear, silk or lace ones that he got at some shady, little shop.

"Anything else?" Sherlock asked, the lust and satisfaction dripping from his tongue. He could hear John thinking and implied there were other options. The next thing that came to mind shocked John and his heart began racing a bit; if Sherlock made him wait any longer, he'd have to just shut the laptop then and run a B-line to Baker Street.

The sheet was off completely and John got quite and eyeful. Sherlock was clad in John's favorite pair of short, heather grey and tight, even tighter at the moment due to Sherlock's stiffness.

John nearly choked on his own saliva. There he was, sitting in a café, hand halfway down his jeans, with a half-naked Sherlock on his screen in _his_ shorts. Getting hard in _his_ shorts, John nearly fainted at the thought of Sherlock coming in his shorts.

"Would you like that, John? Want me to ruin them, ruin _your_ shorts?" Sherlock's fingers teased at the cotton cupping him, tracing himself through the thin material. John's breath was catching and he couldn't look away. His hand was getting greedy and couldn't stand being on the other side of his jeans anymore. He unzipped them and bypassed his white knickers, going straight for his already weeping member.

Sherlock, stilling looking straight into the camera, licked his lips and stroked himself faster and harder through the cotton shorts.

"Do it. Do it, Sherlock." He kept his voice low but didn't dare to look at anyone in the room, it was just him and Sherlock, no one else.

Sherlock pumped faster, a small spot of wetness seeping through the grey of the shorts. He was almost there. But no matter how much his body was falling deeper into pleasure, his eyes stayed locked on John, whose expression was breathtaking. His brow furrowed a bit, eyes intense and wanting, mouth open just a bit, tongue darting out occasionally to lip his drying lips, watching his shoulders rock as he worked on himself as discreetly as he could in public.

Before he knew it, John was watching Sherlock making John's grey shorts darker and damper than they were moments before, his ears filling with his own name and Sherlock breathing heavily afterwards, spent and smiling lazily at John.

"Come for me John, I gave you a show, care to return the favor?"

With a few more strokes John had lost it, biting a knuckle on his free hand to keep himself from making a scene. He rode it out as long as he could and when he opened his eyes, he saw Sherlock leaning into the camera, smiling,

"That was exciting, wasn't it?"

"Was that risky enough for you, dear?" John asked sarcastically, voice still a bit shaky from his release.

"It was excellent, darling. Thank you for indulging me. You weren't half bad yourself, the knuckle bit, very repressed, school boy. I liked it."

John chuckled and stared longingly at his Sherlock, that man.

"See you when you get home, don't forget to pick up some milk, we're out again."

"Okay, and Sherlock?"

"Yes, love?"

"Don't change, I want to see you in those shorts when I get home."

"But John, they-re ruined, you want me to sit in my own seed for half an hour while I wait for you to get here?"

"I'll be quick, I promise." With that, he snapped the laptop closed, put it in its bag, zipped up his jeans and ran like hell to the market. He knew he could get Sherlock to do it some other time, but he wouldn't miss the first time of seeing disheveled Sherlock, wet in _his_ shorts for the world.


End file.
